Holy Sonnet 10: Death, Be Not Proud

John Donne

John Donne portrait

1572 to 1631

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Track 1

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From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
One short sleep past, we wake eternally

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